Pain and Gain
by SlenderLoris
Summary: Dianna and Dick have a conversation on being a hero.  Dianna  Wonder Woman  is based of of the JLU series version.  Originally posted on jingle-junior-justice for the drabblethon.


Diana looked down at the little boy in front of her. When she had found out Bruce had a child, she had been shocked, to say the least. Even more so when, in his absence due to an interstellar mission, his butler's holiday visit to his nieces, and his inability to find a sitter because of the nearness of the holidays, the Dark Knight had asked her to watch the child for him.

She honestly had not known what to expect. She had only known Bruce's name for a few months, and had found out about his son shortly afterward. Diana had pictured him as being similar to Bruce - traumatized by his past, and determined to fight for justice. After all, he had followed in his adopted father's footsteps at only nine years of age.

He conformed to none of her expectations.

He was a happy and energetic child, always laughing and running about. Well... not just running. She suspected Bruce would have had a hard time finding someone to watch the boy even if Christmas was nary three days away. Most young women would not take well to their charge climbing through the rafters. Diana, at least, could follow him up there.

When she was a girl, Diana had loved to hide in the forest near her mother's palace, climbing the tallest trees and feeling the rush of wind in her hair. Some days she would get stuck in the crown of a particularly tall tree, but she was never afraid. Her mother would always come, alerted by some mysterious maternal instinct, and gently coaxed her down.

Her mother... what would she be doing now? On Themyscira, the sun would just be rising. Perhaps she would be watching it, like they used to do together.

She snapped herself out of such nostalgic thoughts. Her mother had banished her, and had cast her out from the island. She would never see her mother or her home again, and to dwell on it would pointless. She turned her attention back to her charge.

He had finally calmed down, his energy spent. The boy was quietly coloring on the floor, using liberal amounts of red, yellow and black. His back faced her, though, so she could not see what he was drawing.

She wondered how he could be so... innocent. He had experienced greater tragedy in his few years then most experienced in a lifetime. And now he was training to enter the world of Gotham's streets, one of the harshest, cruelest places in the world. She had no illusions that Bruce could or would shield him from the full extent of Gotham's horrors, nor the knowledge of the price he would likely pay for his heroism. How could he be so carefree and happy, knowing first hand of all the pain and suffering in the world, and knowing that he was likely destined for more than the usual share? She was a grown woman, raised to be a warrior from birth, and even she could hardly bear it some days. Others... others she just wanted to go away. Leave Man's world, and all its alien horror. Leave the aching loneliness and, yes, fear. She wished...

"Yes." said the little boy.

"Yes, what?" she replied, startled. She had not spoken out loud had she? She colored, desperately hoping she had not shared her inmost thoughts with this young child, who hardly needed a larger burden.

"Yes, you may ask your question." He said.

"Question? What question?" She said, disoriented.

'The one you want to ask. You are sitting like you have a question."

"How do you know how I am sitting?" She asked, scrambling for time to make up a suitably innocent question. "Your back is to me."

"The floor is shiny," Dick replied, propping himself up on his elbows. "So? Are you going to ask or not?"  
>"Alright, alright,. I was just wong what that beautiful drawing is going to be of."<br>There, she thought, a appropriately innocuous question. Perfectly safe and child-friendly.  
>Richard looked at her hard for a moment, before going back to coloring. "No, you weren't."<br>She laughed. "And how do you know that, young man?"

"You said it like you were lying." That stopped her short.

"Oh."

"What was your real question, please?" He said, still not looking at her. She really didn't want to ask him. Her thoughts would worry him unnecessarily, and he was so young. And yet... he wasn't, not anymore.

"I was wondering how you are so happy," She said, stiffing up once she realized what had slipped out.

"Because my parents are dead, I see exactly how horrible humans can be on a daily basis, and I know I probably won't grow up before I die?"

How...How could he be so casual about it? How did that not hurt him to say?

"...Yes."

"Because I've figured it out, you see." He turned to face her. "I thought you had too. Guess not. Don't feel too bad, Bruce hasn't figured it out either. I think Uncle Barry has though, but I'm not sure. I haven't asked him."

"Figured what out?"

"That we are the heroes." He said simply.

"What?" She said, nonplussed. "I know I am a hero. It's difficult to miss, actually, what with me being a member of a superhero team."

"That's not what I mean," Dick said. "It's like...It's like _you_ are the hero."

"Yes, but -"

"No, not like that! I mean you are that sort of hero too, but it's not what I'm talking about. It's...What is your favorite story?"

"The tales of Artemis's Huntresses," Diana answered without a second thought. Her mother had told her a new tale every night. It had been a long time since she had heard one now. She wondered what the young boy was getting at.

"Who was the hero?" He prompted.

"The various handmaidens of the Artemis, of course."

"And what happened to them?"

"Various things. A few gained great glory," _and more died tragic deaths,_ she thought privately.

"And the rest?"

"Were slightly less fortunate." She admitted.

"You mean they died."

"Many of them died, it is true."

"Were they at peace?"

"What?" _Where had that come from?_

"When they died. Were they at peace?"

"I-," thinking about it, they had all left the world by their own choice, in one way or another. "I suppose in a way, they did."

"Why?" He was staring at her intently now. "Why were they at peace?"

"Because they left the world of their own will, I think."

"Exactly." The boy looked at his hands. "They died on their own terms. As the hero of their own story. And that makes it okay. Dying is bad. All it does is hurt people. But if you die on your own terms, you're not just dying. You're winning too. Because you've done it. You've taken the world on your own terms and made it take you on them. And even if you get hurt, even if you die, you don't need to be saved anymore, because it was your choice. You are the hero. Not the victim, or the bystander. The hero." The boy drew his knees up to his face.

"I'm probably going to die before I can grow up. But I will die on my terms, no one else's. I made my choice. And I will take the consequences, happily, because they are my fault. They happened because of the choices I made, and I am at peace with the road I have chosen. Aren't you?" He asked, looking up at her, eyes intense.

"I-" She thought about it. She thought about forest paths she would never walk again. She thought about never seeing her mother again, never hearing her wish her goodnight, or call her her sun and stars. She thought about her room on Themyscari, full of sticks and stones, mementos from childhood adventures. She thought about the smell of the ocean in the morning, and the brightness of stars in a land that had never known electricity. She thought about the dirty and tear-stained face of a young girl as she was gently pulled out of the rubble. The satisfaction of sitting, bloodstained and bruised, on the steps of broken building, looking over the corpses of invaders to her home, her planet, as the sun rose in the distance. She thought about strange foods and new smells. She thought of her room in the Watchtower, a stones' thrown from the mess hall, where she could hear the laughter of her friends when she grew homesick. She thought of her friends, of Bruce, of Shayera, of Clark, of J'onn, of Barry, of Dinah, of John and how strange and strong and wonderful they were. She thought of all the strange and beautiful things she had discovered in Man's World. She thought of all the lives she had saved, and all stories that would go on, because of her. "Yes. I am."


End file.
